


Trust in You

by elounarry



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Keith helps Shiro cut his hair, M/M, Post S3 Shiro coming back, UST, angst with fluff, kind of angsty though, soft fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 12:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15243084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elounarry/pseuds/elounarry
Summary: Intimacy comes in many forms. Keith's not familiar with most, if not all of them. But when it comes to Shiro, the intimacy of touch and the intimacy of trust are on one in the same.





	Trust in You

A silence surrounds Keith that he’s not familiar with. He’s used to tense silence, guarded silence, forced silence, but the one that accompanies him as he sits in his room unfurls a feeling of apprehension and unease. Keith’s never been one to be stationary for too long, but any thoughts of training or hanging around the others fail to grab his attention. It leaves him perched on the edge of his bed, examining his blade, his nervous habit not quite leaving him even after he discovered part of its origins. The smoothness of the luxcite blade and the firm, molded grip usually keep him grounded, a faint sense of calm that wraps around him in his times of loneliness and pain.

But he doesn’t feel that here. Not when Shiro’s down the hall recovering from his horrific experience in the hands of the Galra. _Again_. It turns his stomach to think of all the searching he did and it never occurred to him that he’d be with the Galra. He still can’t wrap his head around how Shiro ended up there in the first place, somehow transporting from the lion right on to the ship. Even with Pidge’s knowledge of quantum physics she couldn’t figure out the mechanics of how it could’ve happened.

“I’m really sorry, Keith,” she’d said, “but I don’t how he could’ve gotten on their ship. Even with the technology we have, so far, there’s nothing that can explain it.”

“It’s alright. Thanks anyway, Pidge.”

“Anytime.” She said, a sad smile on her lips.

The dark grey walls of his room create a dim haze in his vision and in his mind. No clarity, no shine, just the cloudy, muddy waters of isolation and heartache. The image of Shiro weak and malnutritioned permeates his thoughts. It plays on a repetitive loop, doing nothing but add to his overbearing thoughts. He bounces his foot impatiently, knife tapping rapidly against his hand in sync as his anxiousness reaches a tipping point. It’s not explosive or loud, the hefty sigh he lets out the only indication of frustration. Keith doesn’t take time putting on his jacket or hiding his knife in his pillow, just stands and walks out the door. It won’t matter where he’s going.

—

Keith isn’t hurried to get to Shiro’s room, but he doesn’t take his time either. It’s a leisurely distance from his own room and it gives him enough time sort out his thoughts and what he wants to say. It’s not much, but he hopes “I just want you to know I’m here for you” will be enough.

His steps stutter as he approaches Shiro’s room and Shiro himself steps out, a throw towel and shave kit in hand. He looks as startled as Keith to see him in the hallway, but the look is quickly replaced with a smile. His hair is thrown up in a messy bun that has no finesse, but the loose strands that managed to slip out frame his face delicately and even appropriately. Keith’s insides twist at the sight and is only brought out of his trance by Shiro’s voice.

“Hey, Keith. Which way are you headed?”

Keith shifts his body, suddenly unsure in his reason for being there. “I was gonna come see you again, actually.”

“With your knife?” Shiro questions and gestures to the blade still in Keith’s hand.

“Oh, uh, well…” Keith stutters, bringing the knife up as if that will help explain himself.

Shiro chuckles, “Just teasing. I was just about to go take care of this,” he points a finger at his head, “and finally look presentable.”

“I think you look just fine.” Keith compliments, then throws a hand over his mouth, surprised by his own confession.

Shiro’s expression is close to mirroring his own, then melts into an almost sad smile. “Thanks, but the gruff mountain man look isn’t really my style.”

Keith only nods in return, hand returning to his side. “Alright,” he starts to turn around, planning on going back to his room more than slightly dejected, “I’ll just go-“

“You can come with. If you want.” Shiro’s looking anywhere but Keith and he can’t help the delicate flutter that shoots through his stomach.

“O-okay. If you don’t mind.”

“Wouldn’t have invited you if I did,” Shiro smiles.

—

They chat idly on the way to the showers, the comfort of casually conversing with Shiro falling over Keith and allowing him to relax. Nostalgia grabs hold of him in times like this, where he’s reminded of the days he would spend hours with Shiro, either talking or keeping busy in some way. It hurts to think about sometimes, cycling through past memories that remind of him of what could’ve been, what should’ve been. But life always happens to have other plans for Keith and now he’s a pilot of a lion-shaped space ship to defend the universe. It’s still weird to think about.

“Keith?”

“Hmm?” Keith turns to Shiro, not realizing until that moment that they’ve reached the sinks.

“Oh. Sorry.” Keith apologizes. He doesn’t know what for.

“You’re fine,” Shiro says instead of pushing him for more. Keith watches silently as he lays out a hairbrush, trimmers, scissors, a razor, and shaving cream. Nervousness begins to creep up as he realizes he’s never seen Shiro groom himself in any manner. He starts to second guess whether he should be there or not, wondering if he was intruding on something personal. Shiro’s a meticulous man held up by ritual and persistence. Keith’s witnessed him first hand dismiss extracurricular activists and invites out because it didn’t fit within his planned out routine. It used to drive Keith up a wall, but now he wonders if that routine lifestyle is what got Shiro through everything.

The normally lit rooms of the shower stalls and sinks are dimmed down, giving everything a greenish glow. It’s enough to see and enough for Keith to notice Shiro hasn’t moved from where he’s laid out the items.

“Shiro?” Keith tries to get his attention. Shiro doesn’t respond immediately, just hangs his head over the sink with his hands gripping onto the edge. Keith gets closer, resting his hand on top Shiro’s. They’re trembling.

“I’m okay. It…happens sometimes.” Shiro tries to assure him.

“Why don’t you let me help you then.” Keith offers.

Shiro’s tired eyes bore into him as if he’s trying to figure out a complicated puzzle. He’s been an endless help to Keith, and in his mind, all Keith can do is return the favor.

Shiro nods, “Okay.”

They retrieve a stool for Shiro to sit on, his head just a few inches shorter than Keith.

“What do you want done first, hair or shaving?” Keith asks.

“Let’s get the shaving out of the way.”

Keith nods. He was a late bloomer when puberty hit, not having to shave for the first time until he was already at the Garrison, unlike Shiro who said he’d started shaving at fifteen. He removes his fingerless gloves before he grabs for the towel and wets it. He turns and falters as he stares Shiro in the eyes. He’s not intimidated, he’s not scared, but a sharp wave of attraction causes him to almost lose his bearings. The angle of the light contours down his cheekbones and over his nose, highlighting the already prominent edges of his face and jaw. And his eyes. Oh, his eyes. Eyes that are normally so full of optimism and persistence now hold shades of melancholy, downcast to the ground unaware that Keith can’t look away.

But this isn’t the time.

Keith comes to himself and with slow, steady steps, stands in Shiro’s space nearly between his parted legs. He brings his hand up to angle Shiro’s face towards him, a languid movement that serves the purpose of giving Keith a better view and allowing him to take in every detail of Shiro’s face. He smooths the the towel over the coarse hairs of Shiro’s facial hair, getting the skin nice and damp to ease the harshness of the razor. Shiro’s silent and pliant as Keith tilts his head as needed and goes under his jaw and down his neck.

Once Keith deems the skin wet enough, he tosses the towel to the side and reaches for the shaving cream, dispensing an ample amount and lathering it over Shiro’s beard. It’s not a bush, but it’s thick and dark and Keith takes his time working the cream over the areas he’s going to shave. Shiro’s quiet with his eyes closed, breaths even and meditated, cool over Keith’s wet hands.

Keith rinses the excess shaving cream off and grabs for the razor. He turns the sink on and leaves it running. Shiro opens his eyes then, eyeing the sharp metal then back to Keith’s face.

“Do you trust me?” Keith asks, voice low. He already knows the answer.

“Explicitly,” Shiro sighs. Keith exhales as his tone of voice leaves no room for misinterpretations.

Keith is steady under the pressure of Shiro watching him. The attraction he felt earlier still simmers on low within him but he has a bigger task at hand, one he needs to focus his concentration on. He starts at the top where Shiro stops his sideburns, the metal gliding down to his jawline in one smooth motion. No nicks or cuts are left behind as he repeats the strokes in parallel lines down his face. He can’t help when his other hand that’s holding Shiro in place by the base of his head begins applying a small amount of pressure with his thumb, rotating in small circles. It seems to soothe Shiro who closes his eyes and visibly relaxes.

It’s a bit harder when he has to get around his lips and over his chin but the razor goes over each part without incident.

“Chin up,” Keith instructs as he rinses the razor under the running water.

Shiro angles his head upward, exposing the cream covered expanse of his neck. Keith’s hand remains on the back of his head while he starts to bring the razor down only to stop abruptly. Large, strong hands are now on each side of his hips. Keith is used to looking up at Shiro and being able to hide his face downwards if he needed to, but with Shiro on the stool Keith has no where to hide from his unwavering gaze.

“Is this okay?” Shiro asks, unashamed in his movements.

Keith assents with a nod, not trusting his voice. The pressure isn’t rough but it’s enough to put images in his head that aren’t appropriate for the situation. He closes his eyes for a second to calibrate himself. Shiro doesn’t move or change his facial expression even as Keith gathers his rogue thoughts then goes back to the task at hand. With every glide up Shiro’s neck and under his jaw there’s a constant warmth flowing through him from the hands on his hips. The strokes over Shiro's Adam’s apple are precise and rigid, the hardest part now over. Keith finishes shaving with a brief bout of efficient pride. No cuts or blood can be seen and he takes his time running the after shave over Shiro’s face. His eyes close in contentment as the fragrance of the after shave overcomes him. It’s Shiro that he smells. The mix between his aftershave and shampoo pushes Keith back into his memories of them both at the Garrison, Shiro either leaning in to talk to him or getting close to help him study.

It’s a moment until Keith realizes he hasn’t pulled his hands back yet and is still cupping Shiro’s face. He’s somehow gotten closer too, both of them leaning in.

“I should get started on your hair,” Keith states, pulling back and turning to the sink. The tension has thickened into something that hangs heavy and there’s a cold spots where Shiro’s hands are no longer holding on to. Keith checks his reflection in the mirror that’s above the sink and notices the soft brush of pink on his cheeks. He wants to groan in frustration at how his body’s reacting to Shiro, but knows the calm façade he’s maintaining would slip. He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if it did.

He wields the hairbrush next and ambles behind Shiro, now seeing his face through the reflection of the mirror. Keith feels as though he’s being studied or observed as he pulls the loose hair tie out, unsure if Shiro’s aware of Keith’s thoughts right now. A mosaic vision of black and white fall down Shiro’s shoulders in a bundle then separate down his back, exposing the damage of long-term unkept hair. It’s obvious Shiro’s taken to washing it and brushing it the past few days and a part of Keith almost wishes the hair could stay.

He grips the hair tight enough to keep it in place, but loose enough not tug at Shiro’s head, and begins brushing from the bottom. The hairbrush rakes through the silk strands, rarely catching on knots and allowing Keith to take care with ease. In the reflection Keith can see Shiro’s face has lost it’s tension, eyes closed in peace and relaxation and his heart swells with the thought that Shiro trusts him enough to give up his defenses in front of him. He doesn’t stop his ministrations once the knots are clear, continuing to delicately pull the brush from the roots down to the ends.

Every now and then Keith’s fingers scrape along Shiro’s scalp and he notes the goosebumps that rise on Shiro’s shoulders from the touch. He remembers very vividly a girl that he befriended in one of his old homes, one with long wavy red hair that had a passion for styling hair. It bothers him that he can’t recall the name. She had pestered Keith for months to do his hair, claiming it was “so thick and beautiful”. He had scoffed but eventually relented. He didn’t like strangers touching him, but his touch starved body melted at the feel of practiced hands combing through his hair and running over his scalp. It brought a sensation he hadn’t felt since his dad died–like he was being cared for and tended to.

He wants that for Shiro. He wants Shiro to know that he’ll care for him and give him the comfort that he needs.

Shiro’s head tilts forward on its own as Keith halts his brushing and lets his fingers massage over the scalp, strands of hair getting scooped up in his finger tips and moving with the motions. Keith almost laughs at the expression Shiro’s face, mouth lax and dropped open as if drifting off to sleep. His hands roam to the top of Shiro’s head and uses his hand placement to pull it back up, coaxing Shiro out of his stupor.

Shiro inhales, “Why didn’t you tell me you knew how to give massages?” There’s a tired smile on his face that warms Keith up.

“I can’t,” he lies. “I just thought it would feel good.”

“Whatever you say,” Shiro shoots back, clearly amused. Keith pulls the brush through Shiro’s hair a few more times before setting it down, then begins separating the hair into three sections and braiding them.

“You know how to braid hair?” Shiro inquires. It’s not teasing, but a genuine curiosity.

“Yeah. There was a girl at the home I lived with that liked doing hair. She taught me so I could braid hers.”

“So you did learn how to give head massages?” Keith stops his hands and makes eye contact with Shiro in the mirror, whose grin could be described as shit eating and annoying in the same breath.

Keith can’t help the smile that plays on his own lips, but he doesn’t respond and goes back to braiding. Once set and in a hair tie he grabs the pair of scissors and sets the top of the braid between the blades.

“Ready?”

“Ready,” Shiro confirms.

Keith watches as the hairs separate and fall, the blades slicing through the thick threads easily. He holds the detached braid up for Shiro to see in the mirror and waggles it around before handing it to him.

“Easy enough,” Shiro says and sets it on the sink, grabbing for the electric razor at the same time. Keith reaches out for it only for Shiro to stand up and turn his head toward him.

“Do you mind if I do this part myself?”

Keith feels something sink in him at the question, thinking he’d been doing just fine with everything. Shiro must catch his expression, “I don’t think you’ve done a bad job or anything!” He reassures, “I cant thank you enough for helping me, I just want to do this part myself.”

Keith gives a curt nod but doesn’t move from where he’s standing, steeling down some of his disappointment. Shiro takes the towel from earlier and wraps it around the back of neck, and leans over the sink. His hands appear more steady than they were before as he presses the on button and the trimmers come to life. Keith leans around Shiro’s mass to catch a glimpse. Shiro doesn’t take his time going over his head and buzzing the excess hair off, only taking care to go around the white tuft of hair on the front. Keith has to hold in a snicker at the ridiculousness of the contrast between the short black hair and the now long white hair. Shiro catches his eye anyway and they both break into laughter.

“Maybe I should keep it. Style myself into a unicorn,” Shiro jokes and circles his hand around the white locks and pulls it outward into a point.

Keith doesn’t try to stop the laugh that barrels out of him. It might as well have been a lifetime ago since Keith laughed like this, free and unrestrained. It’s a good look on Shiro, too. Perfect, white teeth on display that draws Keith in closer before he’s even aware of it.

Shiro’s quick in snipping the white locks into the a shape that resembles his old style. He shakes his head over the sink and runs both hands over his scalp, dislodging as many little loose hairs as possible.

“Well?” Shiro eyes connect with Keith’s through the reflection.

Keith raises an eyebrow, “You’re done?”

“Yeah?”

“What about the undercut?” The question seems to confuse Shiro, forehead wrinkles accompanied by a frown.

“I–I don’t know. I like this though,” Shiro doesn’t add anything else and panic begins to rise in Keith. Had he said the wrong thing?

“Hey,” Keith uses the close proximity to rest his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, skin warm under his palm and urging him to run his hand down Shiro’s arm and link their fingers together.

So he does.

“I think you look great. You did a great job,” he reassures him with a genuine smile. And he does look great. Different, but great. Shiro’s eyes are cast to the side and Keith can’t stop his hand from directing Shiro’s face towards his. They’re close again, this time one hand connecting to Shiro’s and the other cradling his jaw. It’s unnerving to see Shiro so down, and worse is the cumbersome weight of feeling powerless as Keith can only watch.

Shiro’s prosthetic hand finds Keith’s hip, residing on the same spot it had moments ago, fingertips sweet and light in their hold. The tension build up and suppressed attraction from earlier takes hold again and Keith breathes through his nose in an attempt to keep himself calm. Shiro’s face is so close, intense and beautiful, but lacking in his usual light. So much unlike himself Keith almost doesn’t recognize him. He can’t bring himself to look away, though. No matter the occasion, Keith has always been drawn to Shiro’s presence, a beacon on a cold and stormy night.

Keith feels the beginning of small trembles in his hands, scared and even a bit doubtful if he’s making the right move. Warmth still curls within him at their proximity, but the tug of war in Keith’s head holds him in place.

One moment is all Keith needs. One moment to tilt his head up and kiss those lips that are only inches from his own. Shiro doesn’t look opposed or even as trepidatious as Keith feels. What used to be imagination and fantasy is right in front of him and within reach.

“Keith –“

“Who dimmed the lights in here?” The spell is broken as the lights turn on to full brightness. Keith and Shiro jump apart as Shiro holds a hand to his head and groans.

“Do you mind?” Keith all but yells at the interruption. His heart is beating furiously in his chest at the near kiss and Shiro’s obvious discomfort. He walks through the threshold into the showers where he sees Lance in his robe and holding his bath supplies.

“Uhh my bad. I didn’t know there was anybody in here,” Lance apologizes. “Why are you in here with the lights dimmed anyway?”

Keith wants to groan at Lance for going from apologetic to accusatory in the matter of seconds. Before he can say anything Shiro walks around the corner with his own supplies in hand.

“It was me. Bright lights have been bugging me lately.”

Lance's eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Shiro, "Hey, you're up! Welcome back!" 

"Thank you," Shiro says sincerely, if not a bit worn out, then nods to the items Lance is holding, "Well, we"ll leave you to it," and begins walking out with Keith in tow.

“Hey, Shiro!" Lance calls back, "Nice hair-do, by the way! Lookin’ sleek.”

“Oh, thanks, Lance.” Shiro looks flattered and Keith would kick himself if he could for feeling a small jab of jealousy over fucking _Lance_ of all people.

Once out in the hallway the only sound that can be heard is from the running shower. They don’t move away but they don’t move towards each other either. Keith isn’t sure on the protocol of an almost kiss that is _rudely_ interrupted.

Shiro clears his throat, “Sooo, about what happened back there…” Keith’s thoughts immediately spiral downwards, assuming the worst and expecting Shiro to say something along the lines of “it shouldn’t have happened” or “we can’t do this”. What he isn’t expecting is for Shiro to take his hand in his and turn him so they’re facing each other. He looks exhausted, but the smile on his face betrays it. It’s soft. Careful. Reassuring.

Shiro doesn’t finish his thought. Instead he leans down and stops just short. Keith’s breath catches at the abrupt closeness, but doesn’t jerk away or push against him.

When it does happen, it’s gentle and chaste, a delicate press of lips against his own that has Keith’s eyes sliding close. When they part it’s almost too soon. He can feel his face heating up already, somehow managing to be more flustered than last time. He doesn’t feel as bad though when he sees Shiro’s just as flushed.

“I hope that was okay,” Shiro’s tone is timid. Keith almost laughs at the whole situation. _Now_ he asks if it’s okay? He offers a smile, one that probably looks as bashful as he feels. but he thinks it’s enough to assure Shiro that yes, it was in fact okay.

“Thank you for helping me, by the way. It was nice having you there,” Shiro says, voice just above a whisper.

“Of course. I’ll always be there for you,” Keith replies. “‘As many times as it takes’, remember? Even when it comes to shaving.”

Shiro laughs at that and Keith feels a rush of affection spread through him. All of it felt like a fantasy, a long lost dream that he hadn’t had since his time at the Garrison. A dream he would squash down out of fear of rejection and ruining their friendship. But nothing is ruined and he can’t stop smiling even after Shiro bids him goodbye to get more rest, leaving him with a peck on the lips. They have much more to discuss in terms of how their relationship is going to work while fighting an intergalactic war, but Keith thinks that with Shiro back they’ll be able to make it work.

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed Keith helping Shiro shave and cut his hair. I saw people talk about it but had yet to see fic for it. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> On tumblr! Come find me at [sheithonearth](http://www.sheithonearth.tumblr.com)


End file.
